


How The Dead Will Live

by chargedfear



Category: Muse
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, M/M, probable historical innacuracies, teen!muse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 21:44:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chargedfear/pseuds/chargedfear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The name-tag BELLAMY, MATTHEW is tied around his front, gas-mask in it's box on his shoulder and small suitcase with only essentials inside by his feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How The Dead Will Live

Mrs Howard always wanted another son. It's not that Dominic is insufficient, far from it, in fact; he has always been a handful, but more so that she always wanted the most important man in her life bar one to have a friend. Debbie was always there, but never quite what Dominic needed and the age gap was always a barrier. She had let time slip by and almost sixteen years later it suddenly became clear to her that she was never going to. She is too old now, her hips would not be thankful for the strain of pregnancy and she is far too old to be up at scandalous hours of the night.

Besides, it would not be a good time to raise a child.

She takes another sip of her tea and burrows further into Harold's seat. The house is utterly silent other than the soft clink of china against teeth, Harold out ploughing the fields, Dominic visiting an Aunt and Debbie away working for the WAAF. She finds herself like this often, watery tea in hand, listening to the wireless. It has been this for a good four months now, since this bloody war had broken out.

The brisk knock at her door startles her and she stands up, draining the last of her tea from her cup; no room for waste here and straightens her dress. It's a short walk down a darkened hallway before she reaches the front door and drags it open.

"Ah, Nancy, love!" The man greets, placing a kiss to both of her cheeks before she could even acknowledge who it is.

"Slow down, lad, slow down!" She laughs, pulling back to observe her guest. "Charles, what has got you so riled up, then?"

"Nance, there's been a bit of a mix up in the evacuees, you see, and the village are getting more than we perceived. Everywhere is full, heck the Wilson's have three!" Mrs Howard had not the faintest of where Charles was going in this, until his eyes met her's and seemed almost desperate. Ah. "Anyway, we got a train comin' up this week from London and nowhere to put the poor souls. I've had chats with The next village but they'll only put away two of 'em, which leaves us with one."

His next pause is longer, as if hinting, which Mrs Howard knows he is.

"I wanted to know whether you'd take the little lad. I dunno much but he's nearly sixteen, sickly little thing, too, apparently, but smart as nothing you ever knew from a lad his age."

"Of course I'll take him! Dom'll love a friend, I'm sure."

#

The name-tag BELLAMY, MATTHEW is tied around his front, gas-mask in it's box on his shoulder and small suitcase with only essentials inside by his feet.

The train is set to open carriages in three minutes, depart in twenty and then he is faced with a four and a half hour train journey. Around him there is a bustling crowd of mothers and children and fathers in their uniform. And he is alone. He sneers at a small girl who smiles at him and checks the clock on the station's wall.

When he places his hand on his shoulder and closes his eyes it is almost as if he isn't alone.

#

Mrs Howard waves to Mr Putnam on the platform and takes her seat on a bench, adjusting her skirt around her calves. There is about ten minutes until the train is set to arrive; a time which she left specifically to finish reading the notes Charles left her on the character she was about to take in.

The notes are minimal; his full name _Bellamy, Matthew_ , age _fifteen_ , residence _London_. Dull. Mrs Howard perseveres, pleasantly surprised when she discovers that Matthew is supposedly a talented musician and his preferred instrument is piano. With a little smirk she thinks of the untouched stand-up piano in her living room and how nobody shows the same passion for it as she does, however bad she is at actually playing it. The boy certainly seemed very promising; intelligent and talented and almost everything Mrs Howard had wanted in a son.

A glance at the station clock confirms that the train is indeed late, five minutes already, and Mrs Howard is beginning to feel slightly agitated. She is about to stand up to enquire with James, the conductor of the station when the tracks start to squeal. Her stomach flips and she stands, flipping her sheet of paper over to display BELLAMY, MATTHEW written in neat italics.

The train pulls into the station and the latches on the door are unlocked by the conductor, only six stepping off. Mrs Howard scans the faces of the six; three girls three boys and catches the eyes of one.

He's a strapping lad, dark hair, tanned, muscular, tall, well dressed. Dark eyes warm and observant and intelligent.

The boy looks away. Mrs Howard frowns and watches him wave to Mr Putnam, pick up his luggage and lumber over.

Not Matthew.

"Excuse me?" A soft voice says from a few feet to her left, "are you here for me?"

Mrs Howard turns. "Matthew?" She asks, but she knows the answer already. His name tag is clearly visible around his neck. She smiles when he nods. "ALright lad, let's get you back and you can meet my lot." Matthew nods, readjusting his gas mask and traipsing alongside an already moving Mrs Howard.

Matthew is slim, very slim, almost sickly so and Mrs Howard notes to not remove all the fat from the bacon. He is small and precious, with large blue eyes and slightly shaggy brown hair and twitching fingers. He is strangely proportioned, long, spindly fingers and a large nose yet a thin face with carved cheekbones - _you could serve broth with those_ \- and thin lips and skinny legs. Matthew is a very attractive young man, however unconventional and Mrs Howard knows for sure that he'll be getting chased by the girls by the end of the week. Hell, if she was his age she'd be chasing him too.

"Well, son, we've gone all out for you this evening. I'm cooking my special chicken stew and we're going to use the special porcelain, how does that sound? Anything to welcome our special guest."

Matthew blushes and whispers "thank you" under his breath, casting surprised yet gracious blue eyes up through his eyelashes. Shy, Mrs Howard adds, but polite. "Thank you for taking me in at such short notice. Myself and my father are awfully grateful. I have a letter from him in my bag, you can read it when you so desire."

Matthew's proficiency in English is surprising to Mrs Howard. Half of the adults in the village are nowhere near as well spoken as him. "Alright, Matthew, pet. I'd love to read the letter when we get in."

"Mrs Howard? Could you please call me Matt? Just, Matthew sounds really formal, y'know?"

Mrs Howard nods. "Of course, deary. But only if you call me Nancy." Matthew smiles. "I hope you don't mind, love, but you'll have to share with my Dom. Would that be a problem?" Matthew shakes his head. "Ah, good. For tonight you'll have to sleep on the floor. I have pillows, don't fret, but Harold has started building you a bed so that will only be tonight."

Mrs Howard pushes a gate open and beckons for Matthew to follow her along the path. It leads to a small cottage with a thatched roof and white wash walls and Matthew thinks that it is beautiful. Before now he was certain that houses like this belonged in picture books but when he looks around the whole village is made of similar houses.

The door opens and then Matthew stares because the most beautiful thing is the village is stood before him. It moves towards him, offering a hand and saying in the most lucious voice he has ever heard. "Hello, I'm Dom."


End file.
